


The Same In Every Language

by sellertape



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, SRS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellertape/pseuds/sellertape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for SRS Bonus Round 1 (Historical) - Michael is the captain of the British ship "The Archangel" going to explore the Americas and Adam is the Native teen with over protective older brothers that he falls for.</p><p>I'm running on sleep deprivation, but I /think/ this was a tonne of fun. And - dear God - kind of close to fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same In Every Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrowTheUgly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowTheUgly/gifts).



> As you're probably used to by now, this is unbeta'd.

The kid’s not a kid, not really.

To his people he became a man over a year ago, proving himself in every way possible, earning muscle, scars, respect. He had each already, of course. With brothers like his, Michael guessed, there wasn’t a doubt in any of the native’s minds that Adam would be wonderful. A great man.

But when Michael looked at Adam he saw a boy. A beautiful boy, certainly, and one who would grow to become the equal to his formidable brothers. But his hands were soft and his eyes still widened when he was shown something new. He smiled easily and laughed often. His attention was caught rarely, but once he was focused you began to believe you were the only thing in the world.

Michael had mastered interesting Adam. It seemed to come naturally to both of them. The first time they had met, when envoys from the tribe and his men tentatively brought about a merger on mutual ground, Michael had noticed the boy’s eyes latched where the reflection of a brass button on his sleeve was staining a nearby rock. The intensity of his attention was something Michael had never seen; the removed airs of acquaintances in London did not permit such expressions of interest. His lips twitched. Straying from the diplomatic proceedings of his quartermaster and the tall, green-eyed leader of the natives, he tore the button from his uniform.

The boy’s shoulder, when he gently tapped it, tensed instantly. It was all Michael could do not to watch the bronze skin ripple as he turned quickly, caution flashing across his face. Michael smiled softly. ‘A smile,’ his mother had said once, ‘is the same in every language.’ The boy blinked. Michael opened his hand to show the button resting in his palm, then tilted it so the golden disk splashed across the boy’s chest.

He leapt backwards in shock, but when Michael directed the light to the rock again, gazed at him with a sudden, wild delight. Michael caught the button on his thumbnail and spun it into the air. Unbidden, it seemed, the boy’s hand darted out to catch it, and that was their friendship more or less cemented. The boys carefree laugh when he achieved the light himself drew a few looks, not least, Michael noticed, a glare from the leader. The boy’s eldest brother, he was quick to learn. Terse, brutal and protective.

In the days that followed, there was a specific scowl perfected just for Michael. Amongst the crew, the leader was known as Dean, as it was the closest name they could hear when he was addressed by his tribe. He developed a habit of growling if Michael stood too close to his brother, took anything Michael shared with him out of Adam’s hands, even dug his nails into Michael’s wrist as he passed.

Eventually, it was Adam who tired of his behaviour. After a particularly tense standoff where Dean actively placed himself between the two, Adam snapped, shoving his brother in a way few would dare, grabbing Michael’s arm firmly and winding through huts to the edge of the village. Only when there was no sign of Dean following did Michael let himself relax. Adam didn’t slow as they left the houses behind, but led him right into the trees. Michael didn’t bother to ask where they were going; the few words they had managed to exchange were strictly material. Food, home, fire. Adam. Michael. Mine.

So perhaps not so material towards the end.

Instead, he watched Adam. He watched how his eyes burned with an alert life never seen on the streets of London. He watched how he eased into what Michael understood to be his forest stance; a low centre of gravity, head tilted slightly down to keep the ground – and any lurking threats – in view whilst almost visibly pricking his ears. Michael didn’t know what he was listening for, but knew Adam would hear anything long before Michael would even be aware of its presence. In short, he supposed, letting Adam lead him a twisting and turning route over roots and across streams, he trusted him. With his life. Now wasn’t that terrifying?

Next to the river, some loose earth gave way and Michael felt his stomach jolt as the ground beneath him disappeared. His cry was caught in his throat as Adam’s grip suddenly slipped down Michael’s rolled up shirtsleeve, grasping his hand in the same split-second instinct he had used to catch the button when they had first met. Their eyes met, both wider than usual, though truth be told it wasn’t far to fall. They boy yanked and Michael’s boots scrambled on the newly-formed bank.

Adam’s breath was slightly shorter when Michael was back on flat ground, and Michael wasn’t too sure it had been a strain to pull him back up. Adam glanced up to him quickly, then set off again. Their hands were still clasped.

They trekked in silence for a good ten minutes, following a steep incline which required all their attention on where they put their feet. The only communication Adam offered for the rest of the climb was a routine tightening of his grip as Michael fell out of step or showed signs of slowing.

And then the trees fell away, and they were at the top. For the second time, Michael’s voice failed him. Barely ten feet in front of him, the forest plunged into a valley, stretching for what must have been miles before rearing up again to form a huge mountain ridge, like the spine of some gigantic sleeping creature. The sun was beginning to sink, teasing the highest points of the peaks and flooding the sky with a blazing orange. Never had Michael felt so small.

He turned to find Adam watching him, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

“You wanted to show me this?” Michael asked in a somewhat hushed voice. He knew Adam wouldn’t know the meaning of the words, but the reassuring squeeze of his hand told Michael he had understood the tone perfectly. The boy’s free hand went to his belt, and from a pouch produced Michael’s brass button. He raised his eyebrows at Michael, as though to check his comprehension, then gestured towards the sunset.

“Same,” he murmured, showing Michael the button. Yes, that had been another word the natives had picked up, more easily than most. Same. It had come about when Gabriel, whose locks had been on the receiving end of much gentle pulling from various members of the tribe, had playfully tugged on Adam’s other brother, Sam’s, shaggy mane. They had spent the evening comparing, letting the children measure their hand span against the sailor’s callused palms and tweaking them on the nose when they prodded their faces.

Michael’s eyes flicked from his hand to the sky to Adam’s face, proud and expectant, and understood. The colours matched, almost perfectly, and the glinting surface could, with the suspension of belief, be a miniature sun in Adam’s hand. He smiled.

“Same,” he agreed. Pleased, Adam pocketed the button again, then scooped a handful of earth from the ground. He cast a gleeful look in Michael’s direction before flinging the earth over the edge of the cliff. There was a crescendo of shrieks and squawks as a horde of bright pink erupted in front of their noses. Michael made to shrink back but the sound of Adam’s laughter held him still. The birds streamed past them, into the flaming sky, clashing so fiercely that Michael found himself laughing too. Or perhaps it was the sound of the boy beside him.

There was something euphoric about the fleeing birds, the desolation and the boundless expanse of forest in front of him, almost like it was the origin of everything Michael knew. In a way he supposed it was; before science, or government or economy, there were trees, there were sunsets and there was the simple joy of being with a person who made you laugh for no reason.

It felt, in a word, natural.

Just as natural as the kiss Adam pressed into his smile.


End file.
